Witchy Halloween by Michael Lee Johnson

Witchy Halloween

Inside this late October 31st night,

this poem turns into a pumpkin.

Animation, something has gone

devilishly wrong with my imagery.

I take the lid off the pumpkin's headlight

and the pink candles inside.

Demons cry, crawl, diverge, fly outside—

escape through the pumpkin's eyes.

I'm mixed in fear with this scary, strange creation.

Outside, quietly tapping Hazel, the witch's

broomstick against my windowpane rattles.

She says, "Nothing seems to rhyme anymore.

Nothing makes sense, but the night is young.

Give me back my magical bag of tricks.

As Robert Frost said:

"But I have promises to keep,  

And miles to go before I sleep."